


it happened when i least expected it

by chthonicheart



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe, But also, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Misunderstandings, Online Dating, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, kind of, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:26:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chthonicheart/pseuds/chthonicheart
Summary: Patrick makes an aborted noise in his throat, eyes bugging wide. Well. That very much answers the latent nagging question at the back of Patrick’s mind. The attractive man he’s been fawning over for the last thirty minutes is decidedly not into him. At all.Which is fine.That'sfine.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 23
Kudos: 336





	it happened when i least expected it

**Author's Note:**

> so... this is not the 20k fic i keep teasing you with, i'm so sorry but this IS yet another ridiculous au inspired by [this](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/620079349965652009/684593202044469259/image0.jpg) tweet, so that's fun as well, maybe? : D 
> 
> i saw that and i was like "wow, this is practically begging for a patrick/david twist isn't it" and then spent the next two weeks writing it lol
> 
> also before anyone gets too nervous about it, i.e. the internalized homophobia tag, it's nothing too explicit, but as a gay man myself i really wanted to explore the guilt/regret that can be attached to (presumably) figuring yourself out later in life. my favorite thing about patrick's backstory is despite how solid is, we really don't have all of the details to fill in the hints we get in the series, which makes developing his possible backstory branch off into dozens of different avenues. so this is just my take on that! 
> 
> thank you to ari for betaing this!! i usually don't post fics this late but... i hope you guys enjoy!! 
> 
> let me know what you think <3

Patrick really should have known that taking the only flight with a layover at JFK was a rotten deal. That was practically begging to be graced with a migraine at the  _ very _ least. 

Layovers in general were already the worst, but layovers at JFK never go over well for anyone ever, and certainly not for someone like him. It doesn’t help that he’s exhausted from the business conference that’s dragged on longer than it had any right to. The crappy hotel with the even crappier beds he’d had to put up with all weekend were only icing on the uninspiring cake. 

He’ll never stop being surprised by his company’s apparent dedication to picking the absolute cheapest option available at all times. 

So, the absolute last thing he wants to deal with after all of that is a delay to said layover, but it’s not like there’s anything he can do about that. 

He’s not the pilot, and he’s already here, and there’s no other connecting flights he could take, even with the ridiculous uncharge. 

Patrick’s essentially stuck. The words in front of him almost seem mocking, though he’s willing to admit he might be taking that one a bit too personally. 

> _ ALL FLIGHTS TO  _ **_YYZ_ ** _ HAVE BEEN DELAYED FOR THE INDEFINITE FUTURE. Please check individual flights for more detailed instructions. Connecting flight information will be made available as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience and understanding. Seek out your gate’s help desk for information on reimbursements and additional accommodations.  _

There’s no time posted yet; if years of travel experience has taught him anything, Patrick’s probably going to be stuck here for a while. Thankfully, it’s not like he takes much with him on these kinds of trips. Patrick only has a modest carry-on messenger bag and a small suitcase that has seen better days (but works just fine for now, despite his mom’s constant attempts at ‘gifting’ him a new one.)

He needs to find somewhere to park himself for the next few hours. Preferably somewhere comfortable, though he’s flexible on that particular detail if he needs to be. 

Patrick looks around a bit, letting his eyes scour for an empty space he can slot himself in. JFK is, unsurprisingly, bustling with activity, people around him running in all different directions to either get the hell out, or make it to their terminals on time. Or whatever else it is people do when they’re not stuck in an airport for the next several hours. 

Patrick wouldn’t know. 

He makes a habit of spending as little time in airports as humanly possible. 

Patrick finally finds a place a few seats down from a man typing furiously into his phone. His hair is styled into a sleek (and perfect — Patrick notes, absentmindedly; completely absentmindedly, of course) pompadour. His locks are so effortlessly styled Patrick would bet they’re meant to draw attention to his face. As if it needed any help in that regard. While it’s true Patrick can’t see anything other than the curve of his nose or the cut of his jaw, just that little tease is enough to make his legs a little shaky. 

He doesn’t need to see the rest of his face to know how handsome that face is. 

Which means he’s entirely out of Patrick’s league. 

Lovely. 

Which is fine. Patrick’s aware he’s only slightly above-average in terms of attractiveness. So, as a rule, a lot of people are out of his league. 

But there’s something about this man. Something about him to the point that he can’t help but stare. Even when he tries not to, his gaze always seems to make its way back to him. 

Patrick must be more tired than he thought, that’s all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


\--------

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The time passes slowly. 

Because of course it does. 

He busies himself for the next several minutes on his phone. Patrick flicks through a few levels of the copy of Candy Crush he isn’t even interested in having on his phone, but does on the off chance his niece will ask to play it. It doesn’t take long for him to get bored of the monotony of swiping away the ads; he closes the app out with a sigh. Social media is hardly any better. Patrick keeps it as a perfunctory measure to keep tabs on his college buddies than any real attempt to connect with the internet at large. His family, too, when he’s as far away from them as he is right now. 

The posts are nice, though. They make him feel close to home; warm and cared for. 

There’s a post from his cousin Margaret about finally potty training her new puppy and a photo collage of his Aunt Vickie’s most recent trip to Nova Scotia that has Patrick chuckling. His youngest cousin has posted an obscure meme — that is, for all intents and purposes, absolutely terrifying as it is inexplicably hilarious — he doesn’t pretend to understand. He thinks there’s a flying monkey shouting nihilistic encouragement, but he can’t be sure. 

He enthusiastically likes and comments on all of them. Patrick misses them more than he should, and he’s never been shy about showing that.

The impromptu trip down memory lane hits differently this time. The nostalgia-laced grief Patrick doesn’t know how to articulate blindsides him; everything’s so different now, despite nothing really changing. It’s different now because Patrick’s different now, or maybe he’s the same even if he’s realized something fundamentally different about himself. 

Whatever the reason for it, Patrick finds he can’t bear to glance at the photos of his family anymore. He shoves his phone back into his pocket barely twenty minutes after first sitting down, and tells himself social media was opening up a can of worms he didn’t want anyway. 

Patrick decides to do what any other reasonable person would do in his situation. 

He people watches. 

JFK is not lacking in subjects, which is about one of the only positives he can think of right now. There’s a harried businessman bending over a trashcan as he shoves what looks like yesterday’s lunch into his mouth. Patrick finds he can only keep his eyes on him for a few moments before feeling ill, and quickly averts his gaze.

The cluster of teenagers are gathered in front of the Starbucks just inside his gate. They’re gesturing animatedly amongst themselves, and he finds himself hit with yet another round of nostalgia. He allows himself, for a moment, to wonder how different things would be, knowing what he does now.

Would high school have been less bearable? Probably. 

Would he have wasted so much time? No. Definitely not.

Patrick’s a take-charge kind of man. He wouldn’t have let this fester, had he realized. 

Had he  _ allowed  _ himself to acknowledge. 

Maybe figuring himself out sooner would have been worth all of the worst-case possible scenario’s sacrifices. At least then he would have known, he wouldn’t be only just figuring himself out after at least a quarter of it had already passed. 

Patrick’s gaze travels, and he really shouldn’t be surprised with himself with it immediately lands on that same man all over again. 

It’s time to face it; Patricks’ a simple man. And simple men enjoy looking at pretty things, sometimes. The man sitting a few seats down easily knocks pretty out of the park — and into the next, and maybe even the five parks or so after that — so Patrick doesn’t think anyone could fault him for this. How anyone manages to keep their eyes off of him for very long is beyond Patrick. 

Since coming to terms with the truth that he’s not nearly as cookie-cutter (or straight, definitely) as he once tried to force himself to be, it’s about damn time Patrick’s let himself do something like this. 

Now that he knows he definitely wants to.

For the first time in what feels like forever — and honestly  _ is _ — Patrick knows what he wants. 

The man’s still engrossed in his phone, though he’s moved positions in his chair enough that Patrick can make out what’s on his screen. If he really wanted to, that is. Which Patrick doesn’t, to be clear. Patrick’s hardly particularly nosey as a rule, but he catches the tell-tale stylized fire logo on the top of the man’s screen before he can turn away. 

He feels a thrill go through him, unbidden. 

Tinder.

Patrick’s mind reels. The guy right in front of him really  _ is _ browsing Tinder, the very app Patrick downloaded on a whim last night. He had been out for drinks with some of his company’s local branch’s workers, and was drunk enough to consider giving it a try. 

Patrick’s never used a dating app in his life, could never bring himself to try it out during one of his breaks with Rachel. Whenever he’d finally gotten up the nerve on the rare occasion he did, he’d either already found someone else in person or had crawled back to her by then. 

Looking back at it, it’s clearer than it ever was living it, just how awful things were. How awful it is simply because you’re unhappy. 

That had been hard to swallow; still is, sometimes. 

Despite the disaster of thoughts swirling around his head, Patrick has to stifle a laugh once he realizes the man’s not taking any time to click through people’s profiles. He’s hardly an expert, but that does seem a bit counterproductive, though maybe he’s doing it for fun. 

The airport isn’t the place to find a quick hookup, but then again, what does Patrick know? Maybe the airport is the perfect place for this kind of thing. 

Especially for someone who is already at the airport. 

Like Patrick. 

Patrick is very much in this airport right now. Despite how foolishly ill-advised it is, he can’t help but hope his profile just so happens to pop up, too. Patrick’s not sure if this man is even into men in the way Patrick wants him to be, but Patrick can acknowledge there’s at least a chance. If his own personal journey through the frightening and confusing world of sexuality is anything to go by, appearance-based assumptions really do lead nowhere. 

Just look at him. Patrick could have saved himself a lot of grief, had he not let other people’s assumptions rule how he saw himself. 

He sighs and with a lot of force, manages to shove those thoughts aside for now. One of the plus sides of this business trip was, for once, to stop analyzing things so much. Since he’d ended things — for good this time — with his ex-fiancee, Patrick had been doing nothing but thinking it felt like. 

He doesn’t want to do that  _ here _ , lest it make the airport even more miserable than it already is. 

Luckily, thinking about something else isn’t that difficult for him then, given that the man’s phone screen has a very familiar face grinning back at him. 

Well, crap. This is much more horrifying than he could have predicted.

That’s  _ his _ profile. 

The very same Tinder profile that this man doesn’t waste five seconds glancing over before he’s swiping left. Patrick makes an aborted noise in his throat, eyes bugging wide. Well. That very much answers the latent nagging question at the back of Patrick’s mind. The attractive man he’s been fawning over for the last thirty minutes is decidedly not into him. At all. 

Which is fine. 

This is _fine._

So, if everything's fine, then why does Patrick choose to open his mouth anyway? 

“Ouch,” Patrick hears himself say. He might even whistle a little in false sympathy. What the actual hell. “That’s a hard no on that one, huh?” 

The guy almost falls out of his chair. It’s in dramatic enough of a fashion that says he probably wasn’t expecting anyone to be paying close attention to him. Patrick doesn’t know  _ how _ , though that doesn’t stop the smirk on his face, one that only grows once the man meets his eyes. 

Patrick can pinpoint the exact moment he realizes exactly who he’s talking to. 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” the man yells, shrilly. He looks flustered and annoyed; caught off-guard entirely. Patrick thinks he’s beautiful. “Have you just been sitting there watching me the whole time like some hometown  _ freak _ ?” 

“Uh,” Patrick says, because that’s what it looks like he’s doing, and he doesn’t have a defense to counter with whatsoever right now. “I was just wondering why someone would resort to looking at Tinder in an airport. And then I was distracted by the cruel act of you swiping left. On me. In case that wasn’t clear already.”

The man does not look pleased at this.

“This is my private time,  _ random _ guy. I’m entitled to do what I want with it on this thing! As with the rest of my time. Obviously.” 

He’s cute when he’s flustered. Patrick’s not sure he’s ever classified being flustered as ‘cute’ on anyone else, or when he started to, in general, but it’s true. 

He wonders what this man’s name is. 

“You’re right,” Patrick starts, solemnly. “It is your private time. I’m sorry for intruding, especially since I know you can’t help that you have horrible taste.” 

The man makes an offended noise. It’s amusing, and rather nice to listen to. He’s struck by the irrational urge to bottle the noise up, if only so he could hear it again and again. 

The thought knocks the breath right out of him. 

This is starting to feel distinctly like pining. Which is ridiculous. And too soon, and so far out of character for Patrick that he figures he must be imagining it entirely. 

“Um, my taste is  _ faultless _ and has been described as such by several high-end magazines, including Vogue. So, thanks so much for this delightful conversation, but I’m turning away now. I refuse to be ridiculed by a man who is so obviously wearing a  _ Target brand _ ,” this, Patrick notes in amusement, he almost seems to spit out, ”Button-down.”

Patrick hums. “Is that right?” 

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“Unfortunately, I think I actually got this one from Kohl’s, now that you mention it. There’s one from Target in my suitcase, though. I have time to show it to you, if you really want to be truly horrified.” 

“Mmhm, yeah, that’s going to be a no from me on that one. I’d rather  _ not  _ be scarred by cheap fabric, thanks.” 

Patrick laughs. This man is so charming and difficult and so much more than Patrick could have hoped. He doesn’t know why this man doesn’t grate, why he’s endearing instead of annoying, but he likes it. He likes that the man’s so unapologetically himself, even to a complete stranger. Especially to a complete stranger. And to someone like Patrick, who went thirty years without knowing how to separate his authentic self from the shell he convinced himself to be.

“That’s a shame. I’ve been told by several people it’s way more fun than my usual attire.”

His eyebrows scream that he’s in pain, but the way his mouth tilts to one side, as if trying to hide a smile gives him away. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s patterned with something uncivilized.” 

“What would you consider uncivilized, exactly?” 

“Hmm. Most animals, almost  _ all _ fruits… not to mention all of the rip-off abstract patterns not worth saving. It’s an insult to the style,” he replies, more thoughtfully than Patrick had thought one could sound about clothing.

Patrick hums. “I see. Well, lucky for you it’s not patterned with anything like that.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” Patrick says, smirking a little. “I got it at Wrigley with some work buddies.” 

“Oh,  _ god _ .” 

“It’s patterned with little baseballs.” 

“Please stop talking,” the man replies. 

“Oh, is baseball as uncivilized as…” Patrick trails off, and once the man meets his eyes again, he winks at him. He has no idea what’s come over him. If he were a more dramatic man he’d say it almost feels as if he’s watching someone else, like he’s experiencing all of this through glass. But in the best possible way. “…fruits and animals?” 

“Even more so, actually.” 

Patrick grins. “Mhm.” 

“You’re awfully smiley for a man who just had his dignity stomped all over.” 

“Is that what just happened?” Patrick teases, as he’s pretty sure this man is flirting with him. “I’m Patrick, by the way.” 

“I know,” the man replies. “Your Tinder profile said so.” 

“Oh, so you  _ did _ have enough time to read my name, then.” 

The man rolls his eyes, decidedly more annoyed now. Or so he wanted Patrick to believe. 

“Look, random guy—“

“Patrick.” 

“ _ Patrick _ ,” the man stresses, a voice just a shade off of completely venomous. “Why are you even pushing this?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to strike up a conversation.” 

“With someone who swiped no.” 

“No,” Patrick tells him. “With you.” 

“With me. Someone who swiped no on your stupid profile.” 

“Mm,” Patrick says, non-committedly. “Tell me, random guy who swiped left on me on Tinder, do you want to grab a coffee with me?”

“Why on Earth would I want to grab coffee with you?” 

“Because I’m charming, and I’m distracting you from what otherwise would be a fruitless endeavor on Tinder. In JFK.” 

The man takes a moment to consider. Patrick’s officially laid it out all on the table, and he’s found it’s never been more terrifying than now. Maybe that’s because he’s never actually had stakes in the answer he’d receive, or maybe it’s different on this side of his life-changing realization. Whatever the reason, Patrick feels as if he can’t breathe. 

“Fine. But only because the only way I’m about to get through this delay with my faculties intact is with a  _ lot _ of coffee.” 

Patrick’s body relaxes into his sigh of relief. “In that case, the first cup is on me.” 

“Um, every cup is on you. You may be cute, and  _ maybe _ I’ll admit I jumped the gun with the swiping, but you still creeped on my phone, Patrick.” 

Patrick figures a few cups of coffee is a small price to pay to talk to him more. 

“Alright,” Patrick says, biting back a smile as they both stand up to head towards the Starbucks directly in front of them. Their shoulders brush together, just slightly, as they walk, and instead of leaning out of the touch like Patrick expects him to, the brush of connection between them is nothing but purposeful. 

He doesn’t pull away.

“David.” 

“Hm?” 

“My name is David,” David replies, cheeks dimpling into a smile the man valiantly tries to suppress once again. “Since, you know. You never asked.” 

“I didn’t want to be  _ uncivilized _ ,” Patrick teases. 

David groans. “Okay, I get it.” 

“Do you, though, you think?” 

“Yes, let me assure you, I most definitely get it,” David grouches, adorably. Patrick feels that same indecipherable thrill go through him. At seeing a man and thinking he’s adorable without the world crashing down around him. Each and every time, it never fails to make him giddy with it. “You’re treading on very thin ice right now, Patrick.” 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Patrick tells him. He bumps their shoulders together as they stand side-by-side in line. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad you swiped no on me, David.” 

“Ugh,” David groans. “This is going to be a thing with you, isn’t it?” 

“Poking harmless fun? Oh, always.” 

“I mean beating a joke until it’s dead, actually,” David replies. 

“It managed to get your attention, didn’t it?” 

“Ew.”

David doesn’t turn fast enough to hide the smile that takes over his face, and Patrick finds it to be as easy as breathing to slide his card across the counter after they’ve ordered. And if it makes the not-smile on David’s face grow until it’s obvious how wide his smile is no matter how he tries to hide his face, then that’s something that can remain between them. 

“That’s not a no,” Patrick teases him, though he’s quickly shut up by the tease of David’s hand brushing against his, a touch that turns into more as he laces their fingers together. Patrick’s holding hands with David, while both of them are stuck on layover and he has never felt more impossibly alive than he does right now. Enough so that the question’s already spoken between them before he’s even thought them through. “Tell me, David… what are the chances of you being on your way to Toronto right now?” 

This time, David’s smile, for once, for the very first time, blossoms. 

**Author's Note:**

> god...these two nerds...i'm so...
> 
> i know a patrick/david fic to this tweet already exists, so i hope you don't mind reading a different take! :D
> 
> i wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for such kind words on my patrick/david fics so far!! the encouragement, support, and thoughtful comments i received have definitely made writing for this fandom an absolute breeze, even more so than from david/patrick by themselves (which was already pretty breezy). i'll try to go through comments this weekend and thank you all individually, you have no idea how much they encourage me. 
> 
> feel free to prompt/talk/yell with me over these nerds on my [tumblr](https://breweroses.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/rosebrewed)


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